


Breathing Your Nicotine

by BedsideManner



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abusive Kate Argent, Cutting, Dom/sub Undertones, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hurt Derek Hale, M/M, Neglect, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Strangulation, Touch-Starved, Triggers, Whipping, aftermath of abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-26 10:03:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3846769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BedsideManner/pseuds/BedsideManner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek knows just how to hide in plain sight.<br/>How to pretend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Through her skin

**Author's Note:**

> (beware of typos)
> 
> !SELF HARM TRIGGER WARNING!

It happens innocently enough. They’ve all gathered in Stile’s front room much to his Father’s chagrin, but he can tell the man’s glad to have his son back somewhat in sight. Derek would be lying if he said he didn’t feel guilty. What with the alpha pack and then the possession they’d all been stretched pretty thin. Stile’s has always been the one to take the thick of it oddly enough. Always the one stuck in the library frantically trying to research whatever current monstrosity that has decided to roam their realm and thinking up solutions to seemingly impossible situations. He’s a trooper is Stiles. Derek feels responsible for keeping him away from his family and it’s not as though he’s got werewolf healing to keep up with all the sleepless nights. It doesn’t escape him that the inky smudges of black still trace beneath his eyes even though there’s nothing of late to keep them occupied. He gets it though, of all people Derek gets it. He still jolts up in the early hours of the morning with a thunderous heart and chest slicked in sweat. Flames licking his skin and cheeks a little wet.

  
Now that he actually has time to himself he finds doesn’t quite know what to do. And even though he feels somewhat out of place, even in his own damn pack he still comes. No, he lingers. Eternally toeing the sidelines and drifting off into his own thoughts. It happens far more now that there is no imminent danger to focus on. More and more he finds his eyes resting on Stile’s. At the grooves of his back, the curve of a pout. He’s grown into himself, has Stiles. Don’t get him wrong, he’s still a complete dork as far as he’s concerned. But he stands a little taller now, stronger shoulders pushed a little back as he cocks his chin upwards with that signature boyish smirk. Jaw line a little sharper, hair thicker and more lush with a texture that makes him want to reach out and wind his fingers through. Stile’s whole frame is just a bit fuller, his gait even sinewy. He’s kind of…Stiles is _sexy_. But the thought dies the moment his gaze rakes past to connect with his eyes. It’s like a stab to his gut and every second he spends watching still as Stiles ‘laughs’ along with the group is another it’s twisting. There’s no light there any more. No innocent sense of wonder or the eternal slow burn of mischief he always had there. A shine that’s worn away beneath years of dirt and grit, of misery. No, there’s something darker lurking beneath the surface. Suddenly Derek has to look away because it’s too much. Too much like looking in the mirror.

  
Stile’s gets up and Derek panics, thinking he can sense it. He wonders if the other knows he’s been staring. But Stile’s just goes over to the kitchenette to grab some extra cups. He turns to watch the other gracefully move about the place and can’t help but marvel. This was the same kid that could trip over his own feet even when standing perfectly still. But Derek thinks this new stillness if just another part of the old part of him dying, of the darkness settling in. He’s almost forgotten about being worried by the time Stiles walks past him next, grasping his hand at his forearm squeezing lightly and whispering a low, “welcome back”  
A touch, a whisper.  
Just like that he’s drawn back there.  
He can't breathe.  
His eyes sting with the effort and lungs rattle uselessly in it's cage. Not soft pink flesh but fossilized bone. Gears jerking, catching and grinding against years of rust. He wants to gasp out, double over at the pain stabbing, radiating from his core. Just a touch. A touch that knocked the breath from him and now he can't remember how to claw it back. The desperation building like a pressure, no, it's dripping. Not a tsunami come to catch him adrift but pooling from every crevice. Every crack that he couldn't plaster over with a new pack, some semblance to a make shift family. Every fracture she mercilessly beat into his mind. Her venom like a festering rot. Until nothing he reached out to touch could be left unstained. He tainted Stiles' air just by being near him, breathing near him. So he wouldn't, couldn't. But how he wanted, how he ached. For a lifetime of his crooked smiles and easy caresses. How would it feel to have those slender fingers ghost against the curve his lips. Would he want him, would he stay still once he knew just how easily they'd parted. Hoarsely whispered, begged for her to punish him more. Shaped all those ugly acrid words, chanted them over and over until they were all he could taste. Her own special brand of acid he was made to choke on until his voice wore ragged. Would Stiles ever understand? He'd loved her. Believed her when she'd said this was as good as it would get. Lapped up every damning word, gratefully took every searing act of torment. She'd taught him that she was the sun, the moon, the stars. Made it so his every thought, his every action began and ended with her twisted desires etched at his convulsing heart. His every breath, every tear all for her. And then she'd abandoned him. Left him mangled and contorted, scarcely able to function. Again and again he'd try to take a step only to stumble. Hear her eerie laughter dance from the empty shadows, wring in his ears. He was pathetic, disgusting. A man, no, a monster and yet he wasn't even strong enough to stand on his own two feet. Not without someone telling him how. How to feel, how to function.

How to breathe.

  
The pain was grounding. After the first few months stumbling around like a blind foal he'd finally found some kind of footing. At first he'd work himself a little too hard on the weights. The way his body would ripple from exhaustion like a tight coil stretched too thin felt better. But he'd always recover far too quickly. The night he'd first cut into his skin he'd felt little hesitation. Kate had a favourite set of knives she'd liked to use just on him, he was no stranger to the sensation. But the wounds at his thighs always healed up right before his very eyes. It wasn’t enough to just feel it, he needed them to stay. Something to stay a part of him. Next time was a little better. It only seemed natural for him to move lower and slice up his knees, lacing the knife with wolf’s bane. He’d slowly lower to the floor feeling foolish at first. But at the first scrape he felt the guilty electric, could feel the clenched fist at his heart loosen just a little. Dragging his abused flesh and leaving trails in his wake at the hardwood floor that he'd scrub down later. Back and forth and murmuring all the words she'd fed him like some obedient dog until the room began to spin. Like some useless bitch getting his kicks from worn out tricks. And then he'd curl in on himself praying to whatever God there was that she'd come back. Please come back. That someone would touch him, even if only by the harsh bite of their dragging nails or the sting of a slap. It was even better that way. His whole body a canvas of ragged memory. Proof of affection, love that ran so deep it ruptured his skin. Yet it left no permanent marks it’s wake. If only he wasn't such a monster he'd at least have the jagged scars. He used to run his clawed fingers for hours after she’d leave, unpick each seam as his body forced itself to knit the skin back together again. Terrified of losing any evidence that she'd been here, that someone had cared long enough to carve into him and bruise his soul until Derek was so sure, he was so _so_ sure he wouldn't heal this time. _Please_. That someone had cared. But his body would betray him. Erase the every caught stuttering breath and every smothered scream. He was cold hard stone. The impenetrable mechanical man that would wind up so tight with every thoughtless half smile cast his way. Always ready for duty, ready to march until his feet bled, crawl until his knees could take no more. No one knew, did they? They thought he was just detached, aloof. They had no idea and the thought made him want to descend into maniacal laughter. They thought he was just a little out of sync. They had no idea there was nothing but singed pieces of metal in the well of his chest. Short circuit sparks firing at the brutalized wiring. He was the hollow man. The desperate man.  
  
"Derek?"  
"huh?"  
"I said do you want to meet up this Saturday to spar?"  
"Sure."  
Scott seemed happy enough with the answer and hollered out before joining Isaac and Boyd on the sofa to participate in whatever the latest game it was they were playing. Derek's never been into any of that, he struggles to keep up with their inane chatter about video games and what's in on a good day anyway. He gets away with it, with drifting off at times because he's the expert at keeping a closed off face. They just assume it's just Derek being Derek. Sometimes he wonders who that even is anymore, what he's supposed to be. But Stiles is still lingering, he's giving him that considering look he gets when he's trying to pretend his brain's not whirring. Derek doesn't like the idea of such a keen mind focusing in on him because he knows. He knows Stiles is smart and not the textbook kind. He's been the unsung hero of almost every one of their escapades. He could work out any jigsaw but Derek reassures himself he's one even Stiles can't solve. He's far too broken. He's not sure he can even remember what whole feels like. Derek isn't stupid though either. He doesn't miss the way Stile's attempts to feign interest in the TV or how he brushes past him for another pack of chips on the table behind even though there's still more than enough on the sofa up front. Or how his eyes linger, brighten for a moment as if he's picked up on something. There’s that spark, that energy Derek loves. But it’s a short lived victory because his own heart beat soars, the blood roars in his ears. He stiffened, he must have flinched however minutely and now Stiles knows. Christ he knows.  
But Stiles doesn't try to subtly touch him again and later even waves as nonchalantly as the rest when he gruffly announces he's got to go. He thinks to himself he must have imagined it.

  
There's blood again.  
Too much. Too much this time. But Derek revels in the feel like a sticky liquid velvet cloaking his arms. He doesn't want to imagine his face any more. That look of knowing that twists in his gut with fright. All this, it’s something that he needs. Something that he knows no one will be able to understand even if they tried. Kate may have been wicked but she hadn’t been cruel. Cruel was all the people that would force him to stop, that would look down on him with judgement in their eyes. At least she’d given him what he’d needed to survive. So he cuts, alternates between grazing his veins and thrusting it deep enough that he has to sink his teeth into his lower lip not to cry out. His whole body trembles. He thinks to himself how pretty they look, red like ribbons curling stark against his paling flesh. Sighs in contentment as the throb starts to weaken and fades back into the background like the intoxicating beat out in the back alleyway of a club. Head lolling back against the rough bricked wall having settled on the floor, slumped like some rag doll. He feels good, euphoric. Dancing white lights beneath his flickering eyelids because he’s needed this, _God_. And then he feels the slow burn of his healing picking up. Gaping wounds fading away leaving nothing but smears of angry crimson in their wake. He starts to choke at the lump forming there, as the cold slowly seeps back in.  
Derek claws at his throat.


	2. Outside, Gets Inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More reflections of past abuse at the hands of Kate and Stiles being touchy touchy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !Rape trigger warning: not in detail !

**Outside**

**Gets Inside.**

Derek feels raw. Every single time Stiles reaches to sling an arm about his shoulders or to squeeze the back of his neck. They were a pack, it was completely normal behaviour. Just like all those times when Peter would ruffle his hair just to watch his nephew grumble in teen angst and scramble to fix it with wild eyes flickering gold. Or when Cora would barrage into his back knocking him clean off his feet and they'd yip and tumble about until Laura hissed at them to quit it. Or when mom...

Derek shivered at that.They were in the park enjoying the summer sunshine for once. Having set up a picnic area and grabbed a football to blow off steam. They'd all sworn not to use any werewolf powers, only they'd had to when Stiles decided to trip over the ball and almost break his pretty face. Even Derek had twitched, body automatically starting lurch forwards but Isaac had caught him. Giving him a hard look that translated to 'you're benched'. To his credit the kid made a pretty good if overly dramatic show of just how unfair he thought that was all the way towards Derek who was standing in the shade. He'd started to ramble on about something or other. Most of the time Derek paid more attention to the movements of his mouth than the actual words coming out of them. They were a pretty swollen shade of red as though he were perpetually just kissed breathless. And when his lips would curl in a feline half smirk, he'd know instinctively that he'd said something stupid. Or had looked stupid, or had been caught thinking something stupid. Maybe he just _was_ stupid. He'd always have the same irrational fear that Stiles was some secret telepathic and his ears would burn red, only it wasn't the only thing burning. God...he needed a cold shower or something. Maybe if he had been listening he wouldn't have been blindsided. Before he knew it Stiles was casually draping his arm about him watching the game. He knew Stiles did the same to Scott, to everyone really. Even Lydia made sure to hug everyone as if the need for contact was instinctual. It was, every wolf and even human needed at least a little touch of reassurance for some deep seated biological reason. Even Derek, but no one had really bothered to touch Derek much. Not really. He could feel himself withdraw further in, knew that the other had felt his shiver. Only the arm never dropped away even as he remembered, defocused.

Just how his Mom would surround her arms around him in a firm unyielding grip. And yet he'd feel safe, caged in the kind of warmth only a mother could provide. Threading her fingers through his hair and rocking them close as she'd whisper how strong he was as the silvery light trickled in, coaxing him towards the edge. Enticing him to let the wolf roam free, his body thrummed with the energy of it. It hung beautifully stark running goosebumps up his warm blooded flesh, the transcendence of the moon. But she'd only hold tighter still, tell him that he could fight it. Fight anything if he just believed in the dawn of the sun, the wane of the moon and the infinity of stars. And Derek would whisper it following along, faintly shaping the words until the last of his shuttering energy gradually drained away, his eyes fluttering closed. The demons fought away, swept by the light giving mantra. All he could feel was the steady thrum of her heartbeat, all he could smell was her earthy scent like dewy grass and the sweetest honey, like home.

She'd be so ashamed. Derek had long given into the temptations of using pain as a vice for control. It was faster, safer. It gave him the perfect excuse to punish himself and not hold back. Each time it seemed to escalate and yet he'd convince himself it was necessary, anything was acceptable so long as it kept the monster at bay. He'd scratched her once, just once. He remembered the way the tiniest droplets of blood had gathered at the thready mark scarcely visible. It had been the shift coming on and Kate had been pushing so hard, mercilessly. Derek hadn't even fought after the initial shock of what he'd done had begun to wear thin. Doing nothing, saying nothing save the litany of nonsensical apologies that frothed through his parted lips and shivered down his body. Even as her own talon like nails dug at his throat until the skin at his neck split, dragging claw marks down. He begged for it to stop, for forgiveness only she'd twist his words at her devilish tongue. Goad him with that cloying sickly sweet tone she'd use just to mock him, making out he was asking for more. That he ought to be grateful, glad that she was savaging his body. All he could do was squeeze his eyes tight shut as he felt the familiar tug at his jeans.

After things would be better. She'd press her lips to the groove of his collar bone where the bruises were already starting to fade. The curve of his neck at each crudely sucked mark, finger the tender flesh at the side of his jaw. She'd curl up against him and murmur at his chest. The sweetest of things that would rush through his veins and spark in his mind. That she hadn't ever had a man like him before, a real man. That she'd never leave him, not for the world. Ever so slowly Derek would think how silly he'd been just moments before. It would become more and more like a distant dream as  he'd watch her hum in contentment, offer up an affectionate smile as she'd shift against him. That hadn't been him, he hadn't been the man with a heart constricted in terror. The one who'd made desperate sounds, aborted feeble strangulations. Who'd bitten down hard at his tongue until he could taste nothing but the gagging swell of metallic. Someone else, it was someone else's skin that throbbed and itched with her every caress. But whatever he'd managed hadn't been enough to satisfy her, he wasn't enough. She'd fisted a hand in his hair and yanked him viciously out of his revere so that he'd finally arch his back, so he'd howl for her. She'd worn a contorted smile, the first genuine one he could ever remember that would singe the edges of his dreams for the rest of his eternity. And it truly was the sweetest sound she'd ever heard. The big bad wolf's desperate whimpers. Silly, it had been silly of him and he knew everyone would laugh at him for having felt what he'd felt. He was supposed to be a man, a real man. Kate would never hurt him, she loved him. Every guy his age was jealous, she was hot and older. Most would give their left arm for a night with her. So of course this wasn't...Kate hadn't...He'd just become a little confused again, like the last time. He had been asking her to please go on and not to stop. Yeah, yeah...not to stop. What guy would ever turn Kate Argent down? That was just stupid. Guys were always up for it anyway, especially at his age. Right? And it wasn't like he'd had a problem. He'd gotten hard for her after all, hadn't he? So it wasn't like...it wasn't...he'd _liked_ it. Would learn to like it. The sting at his eyes, it would go away if he just breathed...

Breathe, Derek.

Real men don't cry.

It's not like he can just turn around and ask Stiles to stop touching him. A part of Derek thinks the other knows that and all the extra fondness is on purpose. That he would never dream of drawing attention to himself when the pack was there. And if they were alone, it would only serve to confirm some of Stiles' suspicions and bring him one step closer. Well fuck that, he wasn't just some case to solve for the other to pass the time. Besides, there wasn't enough red string in the world to start attempting to unravel the catastrophe that was Derek Hale. He refused to acknowledge how it stabbed at something inside. He was only worthy of affectionate contact if it was for the purpose of some half baked experiment. Stiles already watched him like some animal in a lab cage. Derek didn't need to be reminded that when there was no danger around, no one needed him. Hell, no one so much as dropped him a text to see if he was doing okay.

Stiles was still touching him. He'd dropped his hand lower to rest at the middle of his back rubbing idle circles there as he occasionally called out. Derek was trying his best to stare without staring from the corner of his eye. Stiles did seem fixated on the game and maybe this all wasn't so bad. When it didn't trigger him if felt kind of nice. Like a soothing balm over that familiar ache. He didn't realise how much he'd needed this, even if the attention was scarcely there. He'd carried around a constant pain ever since she'd left. So everyday it had become like white noise wearing him thin, just about bearable. It was so deep set in his tired bones it was just another part of himself. The perpetual lines of agony creased at his forehead and clenched tightly at his fists. Stiles made it fade at the edges a little, made everything seem to have a warm kind of glow. The only other place he could find that kind of temporary relief was at the tip of a knife. It only lasted another moment or two and then Isaac was bounding up them enthusiastically claiming victory while Scott grinned hardly looking like he'd just lost at all. Derek hadn't meant to jerk away, it had just been instinctive. But he knew the distinct emotion churning in his gut was one of guilt. Like he'd been caught in the act of taking something he didn't deserve. He was back to his stiff normal self in no time not quite remembering when he'd relaxed fully in the first place. And as they turned back he could have sworn he caught something in Stiles' eyes that looked akin to disappointment. But Stiles began to enthuse loudly about Scott's amazing highlights much to Isaac's chagrin so shook the thought off. Falling back a step behind everyone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another stupidly short chapter. I tend to just want to get stuff out there to get a feel on how things are going. They'll be more action and less feely reflections in the next chapters, I promise!  
> PLEASE COMMENT IT MAKES MY LIFE AND I WILL GIVE YOU PIE
> 
> Also I wanted to say obviously these aren't my thoughts on the awful situation that is male rape but this was is certainly an element I'm looking to explore further. There's really very little writing on the matter. 
> 
> As always please look after yourselves and if you know of anyone at all in crisis know that there are support systems out there for all genders and circumstances.  
> Much loves x

**Author's Note:**

> So this is going to be a real gritty one. For some reason whenever I watch Kate Bush's Breathing I think of Derek and I guess this is the manifestation of my thoughts really. Buckle up kids, it's going to be a tough one for a while.  
> Please let me know what you think, hopefully it wasn't a completely terrible downer. I'm planning some pretty intense scenes so stay tuned!  
> It's my first time putting out something that's kind of personal to me on a level so any feedback would be greatly appreciated. Like seriously guys, I have no idea how this is going to go down. Hopefully you don't want to hurt me or something :/
> 
> Much love x


End file.
